Comfort
by NeonSocks321
Summary: A small one-shot between 11 and John. Takes place before all of John's adventures with Sherlock.


**Hi guys! So, I know I should be writing Crystal Clear, but this is a one-shot I wrote for a fanfiction contest and I decided to upload it. Also, thank you n3rdg1rl1 for letting my know I repeated the chapter! Here is the correct version. -laura **

* * *

John H. Watson, M.D., Late of the Army Medical Department, sat on a rickety, wooden bench in the local park, his cane next to him, leaning on the old bench. The spring day was warm and sunny, a small breeze blowing through the park, keeping any visitors from becoming overheated. Trees stood tall around the park, providing shade and homes from the squirrels that usually ran around, while little kids tried to catch them. It was a quiet Monday, so not many people were out besides John, a senior couple playing chess, and a woman walking her dog. It was one of the day that anyone one would enjoy, it's nice weather and calm atmosphere comforting to most people.

John, however, sat miserably on the bench, staring down at his hands. It was the 35th day since he had gotten back from Afghanistan, and John was spending it as he always did: waking up at 6 a.m., sitting on his bed for a few hours, eating a single, bitter apple, sitting in front of his computer for fifteen minutes in an attempt to write his blog, hobbling his way to the park, sitting in the park for the rest of the day(except for Tuesday, he went to his therapist on Tuesdays), hobbling back to his small flat, having a tiny dinner, and laying in bed, trying to fall asleep.

Sighing, John leaned against the back of the bench, staring out into nothing. His life had been miserable and boring ever since he had left Afghanistan with his wounded shoulder. His therapist was constantly nagging at his to blog about his life, but nothing ever happened to him. Sighing again, John let himself get lost in his thoughts.

* * *

The Doctor stared at the monitor screen in inside of the TARDIS. Gazing at his old friend, he was filled with a heavy sadness as he watched the man sit on the park bench, despair filling him. He felt too much with hearts to let anyone suffer.

Yanking on a lever, the Doctor began to push buttons, his tweed jacket splaying out behind him as he ran around the TARDIS console. The TARDIS began to shake, a loud _whirr_ing sound emitting from some hidden place. The TARDIS shook harder, throwing the Doctor to the floor as he pulled another lever.

Eventually, the TARDIS settled down, allowing the Doctor to get up on his feet. He dusted off his jacket and straightened his bow tie before running around the console and down the ramp to the TARDIS door. He threw open the doors, a sunny park scene appearing in front of him.

Stepping out into the sunshine, the Doctor shut the doors to the TARDIS and peeked around the edge of its blue exterior. There sat John Watson, still looking straight ahead, staring through the TARDIS as if the gigantic blue box wasn't there.

The Doctor walked forward, placing a hand on John's shoulder. The man blinked, stiffening, and jerked his head towards the Doctor, moving his hands up, as if ready to attack.

His eyes flitted around, until they landed on the Doctor. John relaxed, leaning back against the bench.

"Doctor."

"John." The Doctor sat down next to him, the bench creaking underneath his weight. The Doctor breathed out through his nose, Earth's distinct sent filling him. "How are you?"

"Fine."

The Doctor pursed his lips, shifting his weight on the bench. John had been like this ever since he had gotten back from Afghanistan. The Doctor had been watching him, the man's repetitive actions filling him with sadness. Ever since returning, John had lost his will to live. He barely ate, did absolutely nothing during the day, and never talked to anyone, other than his therapist.

The Doctor watched a jogger run past them, furrowing his eyes at the TARDIS as he passed. "John... how are you really?"

"How do you think I am, Doctor?!" John burst out, turning to face the Doctor, an angry look on his face. "I've just come back from a war, Doctor. A _war._" John shook his head furiously, leaning back against the bench and staring front. "You wouldn't understand."

"I-" The Doctor's voice caught in his throat. "I've been in wars before." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I... I know how you feel."

"No, you don't."

The Doctor breathed in through his nose, despair filling him. "John." The man turned to look at him, his face softening slightly. The Doctor put his hand on John's shoulder. He hesitated, scenes flashing before his eyes. "You're..." He licked his lips, seeing him falling, seeing him devastated. Seeing him lifeless for months, almost to the point where he stops.

"Doctor?" The Doctor looked at John, staring at his face, unbeknownst to the future and what's to come. He gave John a warm smile.

"You're going to be great."


End file.
